


Little Lion Man

by erenwrites



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brother Feels, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mycroft-centric, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Sad Ending, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Short One Shot, Suicide, Suicide Notes, The Abominable Bride spoilers, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:25:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5830810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erenwrites/pseuds/erenwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has a big secret that nobody will find until it's a little too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Lion Man

**Author's Note:**

> I can't be the only one who thought Mycroft Holmes' behaviour was a little odd at the end of TAB? In all honesty, Mycroft was showing disturbing signs- obvious signs- that he was planning on doing something... I mean, come on! Last words? Yes. That's my take on it.
> 
> Keep in mind that this is _not_ going to be a happy fanfic.

_Weep for yourself my man, you'll never be what is in your heart... _  
_Weep little lion man, you're not as brave as you were at the start...___

__-=-_ _

"Miss me?" Sherlock said, smirking, still a bit dazed. Mycroft's insides lurched with relief. John looked frustrated as he responded, but he kept his voice calm. "Sherlock, you all right?" Mycroft nearly laughed at the good doctor's stupidity. _He just overdosed, you git, do you think he's all right?_

"Yes, of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" Sherlock said, struggling to stand. Mary looked half annoyed and half amused, which irked the elder Holmes' brother to no end. (That, and the fact that she was a secret assassin... and she shot and killed Sherlock, technically... oh, and her constant beating on MI6 security. She _was_ quite a lovely woman, wasn't she?) "Because you just OD'd. You really should be in a hospital." 

Sherlock finally got his coordination somewhat back and stumbled to his feet. "No... time. I have to go back to Baker Street. Now- Moriarty's back." 

Mycroft took a deep breath, struggling to keep down his emotions. "I almost hope he is, if it'll save you from this." Mycroft held up the list and gave Sherlock a pointed look, trying to get _something_ across into that brilliant mind. Sherlock didn't seem to catch on. 

"No need for that now, got the real thing. I have work to do." 

"Sherlock, promise me?" Mycroft asked softly, pleading. He was tired and he sounded worn, but Sherlock was too high to notice, still fixated on Moriarty. "What are you still doing here? Shouldn't you be getting me a pardon like a _proper_ big brother?" Sherlock shouldered Mycroft out of the way, thinking only of his nemesis. 

Mycroft closed his eyes in resignation, finally feeling the weight of the world. _So be it._

He continued, just as a last thought. "Doctor Watson?" There was a pause, and Mycroft knew that John had stopped. "Look after him..." Mycroft forced a smile, yet as he faked it, it seemed to become more and more real and more sad as the milliseconds ticked by. "Please?" 

John gave a short nod, looking tired himself. John walked out and Mycroft leaned down, picked up the scraps of unwanted paper, and put them in his notebook. He looked out the window and waited for the car to drive away. 

"Sir?" 

It was Anthea. Mycroft turned. "Yes?" He asked, ignoring her face of surprise. 

"...Are you alright, sir?" She asked hesitantly. Mycroft gave another smile, this one much more forced, but just as realistic looking. "Yes, yes. Postpone my meeting with that man from Serbia. I have things to do." At that she looked even more worried. "Sir... so you _aren't_ coming in the car? How will you-" Mycroft cut her off. "I have my ways, Ellen." He gave her the last real smile he'd ever give. "Goodbye." 

Anthea- or Ellen, rather- was gaping, shocked that he had found out her real name; a name she hadn't used her entire life. Anyone who actually knew it was dead. She had gone by Anthea by the time she was seven. "How do you- how? Wait, but- you!" She stuttered, turning red and fumbling with her blackberry. 

Mycroft had already walked away, smiling slightly at the surprise on her face. He wished that he could've had the same reaction from Sherlock. 

__One last time._ _

__-=-_ _

Mycroft stared at the gun in his hand. 

He had planned on this for months, now. It was easier. It was for the best. 

Really, he still blamed himself for 'blabbing' Sherlock's story to his nemesis, but that wasn't all. For not being there when Sherlock started heroin and cocaine. For leaving to Uni and ignoring his little brother while he knew that Sherlock wasn't in a good relationship with other kids. For telling Sherlock to conceal tears and hide emotion, to be stony and cold. Mycroft blamed himself for letting Sherlock get shot by Mary Morstan. For letting Sherlock get so attached to John, and for making Sherlock leave him. For letting Sherlock get tortured in a Serbian cell while he sat with his warm coat and fur cap. He blamed himself for not seeing that Sherlock was using again, and for not seeing that Sherlock wasn't okay. 

He had been a horrible brother, as much as he tried. As much good he did for him, he always did ten times worse. Mycroft blamed himself for Sherlock's downfall. 

__This would be for Sherlock._ _

Mycroft raised the gun to his head, barely thinking about what he was doing. He was shaking. 

_Bang!_

__-=-_ _

_Dearest Brother, William Sherlock,_

_As you can see, we've both killed ourselves at some point. It's ironic, really. We both thought you'd be the one to do it first. Well, you never suspected I'd do something like this, did you? Of course not. I suppose it's my fault._

_I'm sorry, William. Sherlock. Whichever you prefer, nowadays. Your downfall, your drug use, the fact that you had to fake your own suicide, the fact that you were_ tortured _because I didn't step in sooner... it's all my fault and I must apologize now, as my final act of grace. I suppose it's better this way, yes? We don't have to have this awful conversation in person, and it's so much easier like this, writing this on paper when I know this is my final conversation with you. And yet... it really isn't easier._

_I have so much left to tell you, brother dear. There are things you need to know, secrets about the family, reasons that your other brother is gone. Explanations to the science of deduction, studies I've concocted, as well as how to get your pardon as well as open a safe I've been keeping in my office- you'll find everything you need for long-term in the safe. However, everything you need to know to get in, as well as more, is in my journal. Only you will be able to find where it is, because only your mind is smart enough to figure the code out._

_6/1/74 Vernet. Or is it?_

_Sherlock, you're the smart one. Figure it out, William._

_Sincerely, Myc_

__-=-_ _

__Sherlock found Mycroft dead four days later. It took John and Greg Lestrade hours to find him._ _

__Sherlock found the journal two days later. John didn't see Sherlock for three weeks after that._ _

__Sherlock found the safe a week and three days later. Eleven days later, he said goodbye to John._ _

__John didn't see Sherlock again afterwards, and five months later, Moriarty's dead body was pulled from the rubble of a 'fire', even with seven shots to the head, several stabs, and countless broken bones. John saw it on the news and shook his head. "Oh, Sherlock."_ _


End file.
